


A Gest of UNIT

by JohnAmendAll



Series: Really Stretching UNIT Dating [3]
Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen, Trope Bingo Round 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:46:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of a merry band of outlaws who live in Sherwood Forest, cock a snook at the Sheriff of Nottingham, and fight against injustice. And unexpected alien threats, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Greenwood

**Author's Note:**

> For the trope_bingo square 'AU: Historical'.

Glancing around to make sure none of the Sheriff's men was tracking her, Liz Shaw slung her bow over her shoulders and clambered into the boughs of the Great Oak. Movement among the leaves told her she'd been spotted; she remained still as the Brigadier — his Lincoln Green tunic, like her own, making him almost invisible against the foliage — swung down from the upper branches and drew his poniard. 

"Who goes there?" he asked, quietly. 

Liz sighed. "I'd have thought that was obvious." 

"Can't be too careful. What's the watchword?" 

"'Saint Swithin.' Now can I come in, please?" 

Seemingly satisfied that she wasn't a shapeshifting impostor, he sheathed the dagger and half-bowed to her. 

"He's up and about," he said, answering her unspoken question. "Have you heard any news from the city?" 

"Nothing urgent. I'll tell you once Sergeant Benton's back." 

"He shouldn't be long. Until then, Miss Shaw." 

He vanished into the greenery once more. Liz, alone though hardly unobserved, pushed an innocent-seeming branch aside, revealing that the trunk of the tree was hollow. A rope ladder led down; she descended with the ease of long practice, arriving in a large, irregular cave, its walls lined with sacks, chests, barrels and racks of weapons. A few torches hung on the walls, unlit. In one corner stood a London Police Box, more than seven hundred years out of its right time. The lamp on its roof was shining, casting a steady radiance over the cave. 

Liz didn't have long to wait before the Doctor emerged from the TARDIS, dressed, as usual, in an elaborate doublet edged with lace. 

"Morning, Liz," he said. "How did you get on?" 

Liz untied a pouch which was hanging around her neck. It clinked as she handed it over. 

"From the Bishop's treasury," she said. "I made sure it's all silver — no gold or copper." 

"Yes." The Doctor tipped out the coins and thoughtfully rubbed them between his fingers. "Adulterated, I expect. It'll be safest if we refine it before trying to use it in a circuit. How do you feel about a little alchemy?" 

Liz shook her head. "I've promised the Brigadier to tell everyone the news from the city just as soon as Benton's back. We'd better not start anything lengthy." 

"I'm not answerable to the Brigadier," the Doctor grumbled. "Or to whichever King thinks he's running England today, for that matter." He sighed. "Well, if you want something to do, you can always help to catalogue the TARDIS supplies." 

It was, perhaps, fortunate that they had barely started on this most tedious and interminable of tasks when a soft whistle was heard from above. 

"That'll be Benton now, I expect," the Doctor said, jumping to his feet with suspicious haste. "We'd better go and join the happy throng." 

Liz cleared her throat, pointedly. "Doctor." 

"Yes, what is it?" 

"Your habit." 

The Doctor gave her an exasperated look. "Do I have to wear that ridiculous thing?" 

"You know perfectly well you can't go around in Sherwood Forest dressed like a nobleman." 

"Oh, very well." The Doctor disappeared into the depths of the TARDIS, emerging a moment later with the habit of a friar carelessly worn over his usual aristocratic costume. "Come along, Liz." 

Once more wondering how she managed to put up with this, Liz followed him up the ladder and into the outside world. 

⁂

It seemed that Benton had brought a number of men back with him; as she jumped down from the last branch, Liz found herself among quite a number of green-clad soldiers. The Brigadier, of course, was presiding over the assembly. 

"Now that we're all here, let's hear the news," he said. "You first, Benton. What did you find at Ravenshead?" 

"Nothing out of the ordinary, really, sir," Benton said. 

Captain Yates directed a sardonic eye at him. "I thought there was a hideous demon, ten feet high, helping itself to the local sheep?" 

"Turned out not to be a demon, sir," Benton said, remaining carefully straight-faced. "It was the shepherd himself — old Aylwin — with a pair of antlers on his head. Painted red." 

"Another false alarm," the Brigadier said wearily. "I suppose he had an excuse?" 

"Yes, sir. Said the Sheriff's tax collector was expected next week. And he reckoned if everyone knew Beelzebub had stolen his sheep, he couldn't be asked to pay tax on them." 

"I see. Is that all?" 

"Yes, sir." 

The Brigadier turned to Liz. "And you, Miss Shaw? What news from Nottingham?" 

"Let's see." Liz closed her eyes and thought back to her visit to the city. "The Sheriff still hasn't found a new castellan to replace Sir Keith." 

"Hardly surprising, considering what happened to the poor chap," the Doctor said. 

"No-one's too sure where the Sheriff is, actually," Liz went on. "He's supposed to be in the castle, but he hasn't been seen for days. Nor anyone else in the upper bailey — no-one goes in or out, except his henchmen on official business. And they aren't talking." 

"Why should he do that?" Benton asked. 

"Nobody knows. Of course, that means everyone's guessing." 

The Brigadier ran his fingers down his longbow. "That sounds worrying. What do you think, Doctor?" 

The Doctor looked up. "What do I think about what?" 

"Don't be obtuse, Doctor. The Sheriff. Is he under alien influence again?" 

"I suppose it's possible," the Doctor admitted. "But I'd hardly call it a certainty — unless you've got any more evidence, Liz?" 

Liz shook her head. "That's it." 

"Then we'd better get that evidence," the Brigadier said. "Benton, you said there was a tax collector due to visit Ravenshead. We'll ambush him and see what he can tell us." 

⁂

Perched in the upper branches of an oak tree, Liz looked down at the road and listened to the distant sounds of hooves and the rumble of wheels. She drew back the bowstring and nocked an arrow. A few seconds later, mounted men-at-arms appeared: the tax collector's escort, with crossbows slung on their backs, swords hanging by their sides. A lumbering wagon followed them, hung with banners bearing the arms of the Sheriff and King John. 

"Halt!" the Brigadier's voice shouted. At the same time, the crash of falling timber could be heard: tree trunks dropped across the road, before and behind the group of men. "Lay down your weapons and surrender. If any of you draws steel or bow, he dies." 

Recognising her cue, Liz loosed her arrow, which stuck quivering in the wagon by its driver's hand. One of the armed men made a move for his sword, and promptly fell back with three green-fletched arrows through him. The others promptly flung down their weapons. 

"Sensible," the Brigadier went on. "Benton, take their horses." 

Benton stepped forward, his quarterstaff in one hand, accompanied by green-clad soldiers. One by one, the tax collector's guards were disarmed and led out of Liz's field of view. Benton's squad then approached the wagon, and led the driver away. 

"Whoever's in there, come out," he said. 

One of the hangings was pushed aside, revealing a pinched, pale face. 

"Surrender, in the name of Richard, true King of England," Benton said. 

The gaunt figure answered only by opening its mouth and hissing. The men standing closest to the wagon buckled at the knees and collapsed; those further away reeled. The Doctor hurried forward, examining the fallen men. 

"Bowmen at the ready!" the Brigadier's voice called. "Whoever or whatever you are, you are still surrounded. Give yourself up. Doctor, what do you think you're doing now?" 

The Doctor was approaching the wagon, his hands held out. "You'd better give up, old chap," he said. "There's no other way out for you." 

The tax collector, if that was who he was, lashed out with a clawlike hand and another hiss of poisonous breath. 

"Aha. I thought so." The Doctor jumped nimbly back. "Brigadier, get as close as you can and blow your horn." 

"Really, Doctor, don't be ridiculous." 

_For once in your life could you just do what he suggests without arguing?_ Liz couldn't help thinking. 

"I'm quite serious," the Doctor said. "I've seen this sort of thing before, and it's high-frequency sound that does the trick." 

"If you insist." The Brigadier slung his bow over his back and took the horn that swung at his belt. He approached the cart, stopping at the same approximate distance that Benton had. Then he put the horn to his lips, and blew. 

The horn-call sounded through the forest; birds erupted from the trees around Liz, spooked animals crashed through the undergrowth, and in the distance she could hear vaguer, somehow ominous sounds of disturbance. As the last echoes died away, she looked down at the wagon once again. The tax collector had tumbled from the vehicle and was lying beside it, twitching. Green fronds hung limply from his cuffs. 

"There you are," the Doctor said. "A parasitic weed, probably waterborne. As I said, I've seen this before." 

The Brigadier nodded. "He's just come from Nottingham Castle. You think they're all like that in there?" 

"If the parasite's got into the well, almost certainly. We may learn more once we've talked to your prisoners." 

"That'll have to wait. I've just told everyone in earshot exactly where we are: any minute now we could have an army on our backs. We need to get off this road at once." 

As he started organising the disposition of their loot, Liz turned her attention back to the road. If an army did happen to approach, it would not be unobserved. 

⁂

The wagon, still bearing the Sheriff's banners, rumbled across the drawbridge and into the outer ward of Nottingham Castle. Benton, his captured surcoat and helmet making him indistinguishable from the members of the garrison, brought the wagon to a stand. 

"That's far enough," the captain of the guard said. "Lordship's seeing nobody today." 

Benton nodded, and busied himself attending to the horses. 

In the dimly-lit, musty interior of the wagon, the Doctor pushed a switch on the TARDIS console. 

"We're just about close enough here," he said. "And it'll drain the power reserve completely. It'll get us in, but not out." 

"Leave that to my men, Doctor," the Brigadier said. "Captain Yates. Miss Shaw. Ready?" 

The other two occupants of the cart nodded. 

"Catch hold, then," the Doctor said. 

The Brigadier, Yates and Liz grasped the edge of the console. The Doctor manipulated another switch; the Time Rotor flared with light, and a stuttering, grinding noise filled the air. 

Outside, the guard captain had been walking away, but the sound of the TARDIS was enough to make him hurry back. 

"What's that noise?" he asked, gripping his pike. "What have you got in there?" 

Benton shrugged. "Taxes, he said. That's all I know. Want to look?" 

The man climbed into the cart. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could make out a few chests and a large box, on which lay what appeared to be several sets of bellows. 

"Just a moment," he began. "Where's—" 

Before he could complete the sentence, he found his arms and legs seized, a gag thrust into his mouth, and his head covered by a sack. Trussed, bound and helpless, he could do nothing to warn his master that his castle's defences had been breached. 

⁂

Dimly-lit tapestries gave way to stone walls, barrels and sacks, as the TARDIS console materialised in what appeared to be one of the castle's storage chambers. 

"Here we are," the Doctor said, locking off various controls. "And I just hope your men can get the TARDIS out again. If it won't fit through the door--" 

Liz put her finger to her lips. A moment later, the Brigadier, who'd been listening at the door, beckoned her; she tiptoed over, and stuck her head out into a courtyard. A few sentries were visible on the battlements, but facing outward. No-one marked her. 

"All clear," she whispered. 

"Then let's go." 

The four emerged into the courtyard. The Brigadier and Yates headed in the direction of the gatehouse, while Liz made for the keep, making sure to stay in the shadow of the walls. There were armed men on the battlements above her, patrolling with slow, easy steps, but all their attention was on the outer ward, not the courtyard behind them. 

Having reached the keep, Liz peered cautiously through the main door. There was no sentry to be seen; she slipped through the door and made a more thorough check. The building seemed quiet, unnaturally so. She stuck her head out of the door, beckoned to the Doctor, and waited until he was in the keep with her. 

"I'll check the upper floors," he whispered. "You try to find the well. If you can, get a sample of the water." 

Liz nodded. As the Doctor disappeared into the shadows, she looked around for a staircase leading down. The well was most likely to be in the basement of the keep. 

It was on her third attempt that she found the well. Behind a bolted door, a flight of steps led down to a circular chamber, in the centre of which was the well she sought. Beside it stood a windlass, a bucket hanging from its hook. Having closed the door behind her, Liz tiptoed down the steps and across the floor, until she stood beside the well. To all appearances, everything was exactly as it should be; if this was the centre of an infestation affecting the castle, there were no outward signs of it, except perhaps for a faint pulsating sound that Liz couldn't be sure wasn't her own heartbeat. She had half-hoped that the bucket would have enough water in it for her to sample, but it was merely damp. She'd have to risk using the windlass. 

She lifted the bucket and lowered it into the well, trying to turn the handle slowly to minimise the inevitable creaking noise. Overhead, she heard slow footsteps approach — she instantly stopped winding. The footsteps paused, then departed in the same unhurried manner. A few moments later, Liz resumed her winding, and shortly heard a splash as the bucket reached the water. 

She had made no more than half a dozen turns of the windlass to haul the bucket up, when sounds of shouting and running feet echoed through the keep. Liz kept cranking, trying to tell herself that even if the Sheriff's men had realised there were intruders in the castle, it was much more likely to be the Brigadier or the Doctor they were after... 

The door was thrown open, and two armed men appeared at the top of the steps, aiming their crossbows at her. 

"Stand where you are!" one of them bellowed. 

With no choice, Liz raised her hands. The windlass, now released, went into reverse as the bucket tumbled back into the well. 

"If it isn't the Maid of Sherwood," the same man said. Now that she looked more closely, Liz could see the unusual pallor of his flesh, and the fringes of weed round his gauntlets and collar. 

"I expect the Sheriff will be wanting to see me," Liz said. Better to be the Sheriff's prisoner than the plaything of the men at arms. "You'd better take me—" 

Before she could finish her sentence, the faint pulsating sound exploded into a painful thudding. She clapped her hands over her ears, but it hardly made any difference — she could feel the vibration running through her entire body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of movement by the well; she turned, to see a column of foam erupting from it and sweeping across the stone flags, sweeping all before it. A moment later, she was engulfed. She could see and feel nothing but stinging whiteness, and damp fronds wrapping themselves around her limbs. 


	2. Nottingham Castle

The next thing Liz was aware of was the high, piercing note of a horn, cutting through the heartbeat that was hammering through her. She stumbled to her feet, in the direction that she vaguely remembered the stairs being. The tendrils were no longer holding her, but they had left itching weals on her arms and legs. 

Blinking, coughing and covered with foam, she half-climbed, half-crawled up the staircase. Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. 

"Miss Shaw?" 

She recognised Yates's voice, and managed to blink enough foam out of her eyes to see him. The horn was still in his hand; he must have sounded it to drive back the weed. There was no sign of the two guards, but their bodies could well be covered by the foam. Even here, at the top of the steps, it was knee deep and getting deeper. 

"I couldn't get a sample," she said. 

Yates looked past her, at the volcano of foam still gushing from the well. "I don't think we need one. We need to find the Doctor." 

"What about the gates?" 

"The gatehouse is secure. Benton's bringing the wagon in now." 

"And the Doctor?" 

"We haven't seen him. Somewhere up there." 

Liz pushed her dripping hair back. "We'd better go and get him, then." 

"Miss Shaw, you're in no state to—" 

"There's nothing wrong with me except a few scratches." She unslung the bow from her back, but its drenching in the foam had rendered the string useless. Returning the bow to its place, she drew her dagger. "And we shouldn't open the courtyard door. Best to try and keep the foam in here." 

They hurried up the steps, leaving a trail of wet footprints. The principal apartments, if Liz remembered the Brigadier's briefing correctly, were at the top of this flight of steps. He hadn't been able to speak to the exact layout, but there weren't that many things you could do with a great hall and a solar and a chapel and a great hall... 

She shook her head, trying to ignore the itching sensations. 

At the top of the staircase, a pair of double doors stood ajar. Yates paused briefly, peering through the gap, then beckoned her onward. As she stepped through the doorway, Liz took in the hall at a glance. If she'd been wondering where everybody in the castle was, she now had her answer. 

The hall was of conventional layout: two long tables running down the room from where Liz stood to a daïs at the far end. Set upon the daïs was the high table, at which the Sheriff and his most trusted retainers would sit. Between the two long tables was an open space, in which somebody might stand and command the attention of the entire hall. 

The high table was fully occupied. The Sheriff sat in his place, pale, silent and motionless, his retainers and henchmen on either side. Men-at-arms stood stiffly at either side of the room, their lack of motion suggestive less of iron discipline than _rigor mortis_. In the central open space, the very familiar figure of the Doctor was holding forth, his friar's habit swirling about him as he strolled up and down. If he had noticed that he was under the combined weapons of half the garrison, he gave no sign of it. 

"It's no use just sitting there looking innocent," he was saying, as Liz took a few cautious steps into the hall. "I know exactly what you are, and how to deal with you. You'll find that aggression won't get you anywhere -- but if you want to discuss the situation like a reasonable being, I'm quite prepared to listen." 

The Sheriff stirred, the green fronds dangling at his wrists. But if he spoke, Liz didn't hear it. The stinging in her arms and legs was spreading, crushing her body in an agonising grip. Tendrils of fire crept up her shoulders and neck, over her scalp, and through her cheeks. Against every effort of her muscles, her mouth was opening. 

As helpless as a fly in a spider's web, she turned to face Mike Yates, and blew into his face. With a gentle sigh, he collapsed. 

"Liz?" It was the Doctor's voice. It seemed that the power controlling Liz wanted to see him; she found herself turning back in his direction. His face had an expression she'd never seen him use on her before. It reminded her of the Brigadier ordering the destruction of something loathsome. 

"So that's your answer," the Doctor continued. "I can see I'm wasting my time talking to you." 

He reached into his habit, and drew out a wooden pipe, brightly painted and pierced with holes: a flute, or perhaps a recorder. It seemed to Liz that he was handling it a little awkwardly, like a toy that he'd outgrown. That impression was confirmed when he put it to his lips and blew: the result was a discordant screech. Remembering the Doctor's earlier remarks about high-frequency sound, Liz presumed he'd been attempting to free her. If so, it had been an utter failure. The alien grip on her body was as strong as ever. 

"Yes, well," the Doctor said. "What I ever saw in the silly thing I don't know." 

If Liz had had control of her own body, she would have said something like "That makes two of us." As it was, she found herself lurching in the Doctor's direction, her hands clawing for him, her only vocal sound a deadly hissing. 

⁂

On the walls of the castle's inner ward, the sentinels stood facing outward, stolidly keeping watch with a concentration no human could match. All their attention was on the outer ward and the city beyond. Even if they had been looking in the right direction, the unusual sight of foam pouring from the windows of the keep would not have distracted them, even for an instant. The shrill, discordant whistle from the castle's upper windows did not cause them to start, or turn to look; and even the rumble of wheels as the tax collector's wagon had been brought into the inner ward had not been sufficient to attract their attention. 

Had they been able to see inside the wagon, and comprehend what it contained, their attitude might not have been so sanguine. 

Benton had been crouching behind one of the tapestries that concealed the wagon's interior. At the sound of the Doctor's whistle, he gestured to the men waiting behind him. Several of them moved to other openings, their bows at the ready. Others moved to the ungainly collection of tubes and bellows occupying most of the space, and began to pump the handles. 

A single, pure, high, musical note filled the inner ward, the sound of a horn magnified a dozen or more times. It echoed around the walls, growing louder and louder, counterpointed by distant sounds of shattering crockery and howling dogs. 

On the wall, the guards swayed and crumpled, their weapons falling from their suddenly limp hands. As the last one fell, Benton jumped from the wagon, throwing back the hangings, and gestured to two of the men to follow him. Those at work on the bellows continued to pump, blanketing the castle in a sound that assaulted the mind. 

⁂

For the second time that day, Liz heard the high, clear note, and felt the alien grip on her mind and body slacken. With the tiny part of her mind not flooded with pain, she found it possible to wonder why, this time, it hurt so much more. Presumably the lifeform, whatever it was, had managed to insinuate itself further into her body, and it wasn't leaving without a fight. 

As the distant horns fell silent and the pain gradually receded, she found herself on hands and knees, shaking all over. Someone caught hold of her shoulder. 

"Miss Shaw?" It was Yates's voice. "How are you?" 

"Stiff," Liz managed. Her voice sounded slurred in her own ears, as if she hadn't quite regained proper control of her mouth. "And I've got what feels like heartburn, only worse." 

"Can you sta—" Yates began. Abruptly he broke off and pulled her to her feet. As she managed to get her eyes in focus, Liz realised why. By destroying the parasite, the Doctor had freed everybody in the Great Hall from its control. Which meant that she, Yates and the Doctor were now surrounded by the Sheriff and most of his garrison, all in their right minds and armed to the teeth. 

Sure enough, the Sheriff — his voice, like Liz's, slightly slurred — lost no time in grasping the situation. 

"Seize them!" he shouted. 

"Now, just a moment," the Doctor protested, as the men-at-arms, moving somewhat stiffly and hesitantly, began to close in around them. 

"You've been under the control of an alien entity!" Liz added. "Don't you remember?" 

"Remember?" the Sheriff repeated. "Of course I remember. And don't think me ungrateful. That's why you're my prisoners and not dead already. I might even let you go one day — provided you swear allegiance to King John and pay the appropriate ransom, of course." 

"That's ridiculous!" the Doctor protested. 

"Oh, if you'd prefer to be executed, I can change my order. Consider this, Friar — if you are any sort of friar, which I find hard to believe. I have but to say the word, and I will be spared the trouble of guarding you, feeding you, and worrying that you might one day escape to vex me again. One crossbow bolt could rid me of you forever." 

"It couldn't, you know," the Doctor said calmly. 

The Sheriff shrugged. "Be that as it may, if you desire to live I suggest you follow my orders." 

"And I suggest you don't," the Brigadier's voice called down from above. 

Everybody in the hall looked upward. The Brigadier was standing in one of the high window embrasures, presumably having scaled the keep from outside and climbed in. 

At the sight of his archenemy, the Sheriff's face congested with fury. "Shoot him down!" he snapped. 

Those crossbowmen with a clear line of sight raised their bows. Several fired, but to no avail; the Brigadier had already caught hold of a hanging rope, swung down onto the high table, and drawn his rapier. 

"Sir, you will face me!" he demanded. 

The Sheriff, still moving a trifle stiffly, drew his own sword. 

"You're a fool, Lethbridge-Stewart," he said. "Even if you win, you can't save your fellow ruffians, or the wench." 

"We'll see about that," was the Brigadier's only response. 

The two stepped into the open space between the tables, bowed formally, then took their positions. Their swords clashed, separated, and met again. The Sheriff, doubtless still feeling the aftereffects of his possession, eschewed subtlety in favour of a crashing attack. With one hammerblow after another, he drove the Brigadier back against the far row of tables. In turn, he was forced back, as the Brigadier mingled his steadfast defence with more penetrating thrusts. 

By the time the two fighters were in the centre of the hall once more, Liz was finding the clatter of their blades almost hypnotic. First one, then the other, would advance perhaps a foot, only to be driven back again. By now, each fighter clearly had the other's measure; she suspected that instead of aiming for a quick triumph, they now hoped attrition would bring them victory. But even if the Brigadier did succeed in wearing down the Sheriff's guard, that would still leave him trapped under the crossbows of the garrison. Try as she might, Liz couldn't see a way out. 

From somewhere outside, the triumphant note of a horn cut through the air. 

At once, the Brigadier redoubled his efforts, driving the Sheriff back with a whirlwind of steel. Then his sword flickered this way and that, the Sheriff's blade whirled through the air to embed itself in a tabletop, and the Sheriff himself was backed against a table, his arm raised as if to ward off a blow. 

"If you kill me, my men will cut you down," he gasped. 

"I'm well aware of the tactical situation, thank you," the Brigadier said. "Let me assure you in turn that if any of the Doctor, Yates or Miss Shaw are harmed, this will be your last hour." 

The Sheriff seemed to be recovering his self-control. "A bold claim, sir," he retorted. "You are in no position to beg for your own life, far less those of your mountebank friar, that scarlet knave, or the so-called Maid of Sherwood." 

"On the contrary," the Brigadier said calmly. "I suggest you look at the gallery." 

The Sheriff, and various of his men, did so. Liz followed suit, and saw that green-clad UNIT men, longbows at the ready, were at every window embrasure, aiming down into the hall. 

"Drop your weapons," the Brigadier continued. "Doctor, Yates, Miss Shaw -- to the courtyard." 

With a scowl, the Sheriff gave the order. His men-at-arms threw their crossbows to the ground. As they did so, Liz, Yates and the Doctor backed slowly out of the hall. A moment later the Brigadier joined them, and pushed the heavy doors closed. 

"You've got the TARDIS back onto the wagon, I hope," the Doctor said, as they hurried down the stairs. 

"That's what the horn-call was for. All I had to do was keep the Sheriff occupied until we were ready to go and my men were in position." 

The rest of their escape was completed without speech. The wagon was standing in the courtyard, ready to go; the Brigadier lifted Liz and almost threw her on board, before joining her. As he did so, Benton sounded his horn again; the remainder of the force came running from the direction of the keep, along the battlements of the inner ward and down to join the wagon. 

"Drive on!" the Brigadier called. A whip cracked, and the wagon groaned forward, into the echoing tunnel of the gatehouse. Voices were shouting, and men-at-arms were running this way and that. Beside Liz, Private Bell bent her bow and loosed a green-fletched arrow; a shout suggested it had found its mark. Liz, her fingers still stiff, could only lie flat and hope that they could make it through the outer gateway in time. 

In the event, she was sure that less than half a second separated their passing under the great portcullis, and that same portcullis slamming down behind them with a crash. Before it could be raised again, the wagon had disappeared into the streets of the city. 

As soon as they were out of sight of the castle, Yates and some of the men took down the elaborate, tapestried hangings, replacing them with faded cloth. The wagon passed out of the city gates at a sedate and innocuous pace, unmarked by the sentinels on duty. 

"Now, Doctor," the Brigadier said. "We've been to considerable trouble today on your behalf. I hope you feel it was worth it." 

"Oh, I think so," the Doctor said. Despite the dim light and the jolting of the wagon, he still appeared to be concentrating on the TARDIS console, with less than half of his attention on the Brigadier. "If the weed creature hadn't been completely destroyed, I'm sure it would have reasserted its influence over Liz by now." 

"How reassuring," the Brigadier said drily. "Miss Shaw, I take it that you feel no particular urge to attack us?" 

"No more so than usual," Liz said. "And I know I'm wasting my time suggesting this, but why don't you and the Sheriff stop arguing about who should be king? Just pick one and have done with it. That way you could actually concentrate on fighting alien invaders instead of each other." 

"Quite impossible," the Brigadier said firmly. 

"What he really means is: Far too sensible," the Doctor added, with a smile. 

⁂

The Sheriff was striding through his castle, delivering deserved and undeserved rebukes on each side. This, he fumed, was what happened when there was no castellan to maintain order and keep the troops up to the mark. Had he not written to King John time and again, pointing out the danger of leaving this vital post vacant? 

He turned, at the sound of hooves coming to a halt at the outer gate. 

"Who goes there?" the guard shouted. 

The Sheriff turned, to see a horse and rider silhouetted in the gateway, the rider in the full armour of a knight. Men-at-arms were barring his path. 

"I come in the King's name," the rider said. "Here is his safe-conduct pass." 

He handed a scroll to the guard, who in turn approached the Sheriff. The Sheriff, noting that it was sealed with the Great Seal of England, glanced hastily over the words. 

"Let him come in," he said. 

A moment later the newcomer had dismounted, and was leading his horse into the courtyard. The Sheriff approached him. 

"What is your business here?" he asked. 

"My business is with the Sheriff alone," the knight said. 

"Then you have found him. I am Major General Scobie, Sheriff of Nottingham. What news from the King?" 

"Why, only that he sends you a new castellan. And here I am." The man removed his helmet, revealing dark hair, a calm, distinguished face, and a neatly-trimmed beard. "Sir Gilles Estram, at your service."


End file.
